


The Laughing Policeman

by WastingYourGum



Series: Sherlock Rare Pair Bingo [8]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-01
Updated: 2014-09-01
Packaged: 2018-02-15 19:21:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2240511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WastingYourGum/pseuds/WastingYourGum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the SRPB Round 5 prompt: "Laugh"</p>
<p>Sherlock had never heard Lestrade laugh... until that day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Laughing Policeman

Until that day, Sherlock had never heard Lestrade laugh.

Crime scenes are not, as a rule, places of great hilarity. Police officers, like many others in jobs dealing with the grimmer side of life, tend to have a very dark streak of humour. It develops as a coping mechanism for some of the worse situations their occupation places them in. There are too many times when if you didn't laugh, you'd cry.

Except you don't laugh. Not really. Black humour is rarely laugh-out-loud funny. It'll provoke the odd semi-smile and half-hearted chuckle but full blown laughter? That was something that just didn't happen.

So despite the fact Sherlock had seen DI Lestrade on over a dozen separate occasions, he had never seen any hint of amusement from the man other than a grim smile - usually upon realising he was going to get to arrest somebody and (eventually) go home.

He'd been able to tell a myriad things about Lestrade within thirty seconds of meeting him (West Country origins, troubled marriage, workaholic, likes a drink, smoker, bisexual, football player) - although he didn't have to be the world's most observant man to spot that he was staggeringly handsome. Sherlock's usually well controlled libido responded to _that_ before the man even opened his mouth. When he proved himself to also not be irredeemably thick, Sherlock had been forced to admit it might be a problem and do something he'd not had to do with anyone for a long time - weigh the DI's attractiveness against his usefulness.

He eventually decided that he would ignore the former in order to foster the latter. The work had to come first.

It turned out to be trickier than he'd at first anticipated the more he got to know the man, but he persevered and gradually familiarity bred, if not contempt then at least a workable air of cool detachment.

Until that day.

Until that day and the incident with the bag of icing sugar and the recently deceased's startled cat.

Sherlock blinked rapidly, causing small avalanches to fall from his eyelashes. As the confectionary cloud settled, he looked up to see Lestrade's lips were pursed in a thin, tight line and his face was turning puce.

Sherlock held up a (sugar dusted) finger of warning. "Lestrade…"

Lestrade contained his mirth for only a few seconds more before it burst out of him in the most enormous deep laugh Sherlock had ever heard. He kept laughing until, after what seemed to Sherlock like an unnecessarily long time, he leaned over and put his hands on his knees trying to catch his breath.

"Oh… Oh God… Sorry, Sherlock. I just..." and he was off again.

Sherlock was furious and then embarrassed and then furious that he was embarrassed. More than anything though he was absolutely _livid_ that the sound of Lestrade's laugh had gone straight to his groin.

Lestrade's laugh was the sexiest thing Sherlock had heard in ages. It was _filthy_ and _gorgeous_. It was a laugh of pure joy and very impure thoughts. He wanted to hear it right next to his ear. He wanted to _feel_ it while Lestrade was buried balls-deep inside him.

He'd worked so hard to ignore his attraction to the man so they could develop a mutually beneficial working relationship. One momentary mishap had simultaneously shown him that he may as well have commanded the tide not to come in and that he had absolutely no chance of it going anywhere. Lestrade found him as readily worthy of being mocked as everyone else did.

And he had the most perfectly sexy laugh with which to do it.

"If you've quite finished, Lestrade" he said frostily.

Lestrade wiped the tears from his eyes and put out a hand to grab Sherlock's sleeve as he started to push past.

Sherlock stopped and turned his best withering glare on Lestrade as the man lifted his head again.

He was smiling.

Not the "somebody's getting nicked" smile, nor the "I hear what you're saying but I think you're lying" smile but one Sherlock hadn't seen before. It lit up his whole face.

The last shred of Sherlock's resistance evaporated.

The man had _dimples_ , for Christ's sake. How do you stand up to that?

"You daft bugger," Lestrade said fondly. "I'm not laughing at you… Well OK, yes, I am laughing at you, but don't take it so personally. Could have happened to anybody."

He reached up and ruffled Sherlock's hair causing another small flurry which settled on their shoulders.

"Come on outside and we'll dust you off before anyone else sees you." Lestrade pulled him out of the small flat and into the fence-lined scrap of concrete that served as a back yard.

"Give us your coat."

Sherlock shrugged his way out of his coat and handed it over. He did his best to get the rest of the sugar out of his hair while Lestrade hung his coat over the plastic washing line strung across the yard and smacked at it as if he were beating a carpet.

"I think we got most of it."

"Thank you." Sherlock pulled the coat back around himself, quickly hiding the evidence of what watching Lestrade and his stupid sexy laugh smacking something had given him.

"You OK? You look a bit flushed."

"I--" 

"Hang on." Lestrade reached up and smudged his thumb across Sherlock's cheek. "There."

Sherlock froze.

"You were saying?" Lestrade prompted.

"I...  liked hearing you laugh. You should do it more often."

"Not many chances for that in this job, mate."

"Then maybe…"

"What?"

"Nothing."

"No what, come on, tell me."

"Maybe I would like to see you outside of work," Sherlock said in a rush.

Lestrade's eyebrows shot up in surprise. Sherlock was drawing breath to tell him to forget the whole thing when he said "Yeah, why not?"

"Really?"

"Sure. We can go get a coffee or something."

"I would like that." Sherlock admitted.

"Maybe some cakes as well." He suddenly grabbed Sherlock's arms and licked his cheek. "I've got a terrible sweet tooth."

"Eugh - Lestrade!"

"Sorry. " Lestrade didn't look in the least apologetic.

"Don't you dare call me sweet."

"OK, no problem... sugar."

Sherlock decided - on balance  - it was worth not killing him just to hear that laugh again...


End file.
